Am 6:1-7, 7:7-17

15 July 2007

“Affluenza”

            “Who’s your idol?”  That was the question posed on the front page of the Post-Journal a couple of weeks ago.  Who is your idol?  The reference was to the Chautauqua Lake Idol contest.  Our “idol” would be identified as our favorite singer in the event.  I haven’t followed it, so I’m afraid I can’t answer the question—at least, not in the way it was intended!

            No doubt, I do have some idols; they’re just not singers in a contest.  And if I’m accused of reading too much into the question, I’ll have to plead guilty.  I’m sorry.  I notice things like that!

            There’s another guy who notices things like that.  He lives 28 centuries before us.  His name is Amos, and he makes people mad.  No, he infuriates them!  What gets them so ticked off are the things he says.  He identifies their idols.  He points out things in their lives—and in the life of the nation—that are wrong and twisted.

            But maybe just as much as what he says, it’s who Amos is that enrages people.  Consider this for a moment:  he’s only a shepherd, and he’s lecturing those who are way above his pay grade.  It’s the rich and famous being confronted by a nobody!  It’s blue collar challenging blue blood!

            And if that’s not bad enough, look where Amos is from.  His home is in Tekoa, some redneck town in the southern kingdom of Judah.  How dare he come north to Israel to impugn the powers that be!  Who does he think he is?  What that boy needs to do is to turn around and head right back to his sheep and sycamore trees!

            Last week’s scripture reading featured the signature text of the prophet Amos.  “I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.  [This is Amos speaking for God!]  Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon.  Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps” (5:21-23).

            It isn’t that God prohibits the worship of the people, in and of itself.  The problem is what goes with it.  The problem is what they do as soon as they leave the sanctuary.  This is what the prophet addresses in likely his best-known utterance:  “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (v. 24).  In other words, they need to quit going through the motions.

            During the time of Amos’ ministry, the mid 8th century B.C. (roughly 760-750), Jeroboam II is king of Israel.  His reign has been long and prosperous.  His army has reclaimed land in the north that had been conquered, and the economy is booming.  Having said that, Jeroboam has come to the throne during a period when Israel is on borrowed time.  There is a certain amount of luck involved.

To the east, the mighty Assyrians have had to halt their westward expansion.  They’ve had their hands full, dealing with intrigues inside the empire and also fighting the Babylonians and the Elamites—areas near what we now call the Persian Gulf.  But don’t count the Assyrians out:  they’ll be back!

What are the idols that Amos identifies?  Are they something as obvious as sculptures of wood and stone?  Are they something more insidious…something more subtle?

Well, let’s hear what he has to say.  In chapter 6, he speaks of woe to “those who are at ease in Zion,” to “those who feel secure on Mount Samaria,” to those who are “the notables of the first of the nations” (v. 1).  So in verse 1, Amos begins the passage with “the first of the nations.”  In verse 7, he ends it with “they shall now be the first to go into exile.”  That’s when the Assyrians make their return!

“So you think you’re the first of all?” the prophet asks the rich and powerful.  “Well, guess what?  You will be the first!”

It’s in verses 4 to 6, however, that Amos really makes his point.  “Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory, and lounge on their couches, and eat lambs from the flock, and calves from the stall; who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp, and like David improvise on instruments of music; who drink wine from bowls, and anoint themselves with the finest oils, but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph!”  The term “Joseph” is sometimes used as a substitute for “Israel.”

This is a picture of those gripped by the disease of “affluenza.”  (Not influenza—affluenza!)  It’s been noted that these are people “who enjoy a life of luxury and ease, but who are indifferent to the sociological and political problems which are about to bring the roof down upon their heads.”[1]

Seven verbs are used to describe this affluent society.  They lie (on beds of ivory)…they lounge…they eat meat (as opposed to the poor, who can’t afford it)…they sing…they improvise…they drink wine (not from goblets, but by the bowl full)…they anoint themselves (with expensive perfume).  If this doesn’t seem overly decadent, remember that this is the eighth century B.C.  Still, there are billions of people today who don’t possess this kind of wealth.

There is an eighth verb mentioned, something that the affluenza of Amos’ audience prevents.  It’s in the final line of verse 6.  They “are not grieved” about the ruin of their nation.  Their lifestyle has blinded them to its ill effects.

So, what are the idols that Amos identifies?  As I hinted earlier, they may not be things that immediately come to mind.  There’s no golden calf, like back in the days of Aaron and Moses.  Rather, things that have become idols for them are questions of national pride, military might, and economic prowess.  That’s why the prophet is so critical of their worship.  Their heart and soul isn’t in God; they really worship these other things.

Chapter 7 features a confrontation between Amos and Amaziah, the priest.  Amaziah serves as a kind of religious chief of staff for the king.  And in his report to Jeroboam about Amos’ activities, he accuses him of treason.  The prophet is painted as a conspirator, a subversive.

Amaziah gives him fair warning.  He tells Amos that it’s time to hit the road.  Go back home.  Verse 13 provides a revealing remark.  Amos is cautioned to “never again prophesy at Bethel, for it is the king’s sanctuary, and it is a temple of the kingdom.”  Without realizing it, Amaziah is admitting that he’s a spiritual sellout.  He has allowed his relationship to the king to determine his message.  He’s unable to speak truth to power, because he has so completely identified with power.

So, to the idols of national pride, military might, and economic prowess, we now add, as Daniel Clendenin puts it, “pimping religion for political empire.”[2]  Considering the prediction Amos makes about Amaziah’s wife, “pimping” might be the right word!

I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say we can see these dynamics in America today.  It’s safe to say we’ve done more with those idols than Israel ever did.

Clendenin speaks about Cullen Murphy’s new book, Are We Rome?[3]  He says that America and the Roman Empire “both suffer from an exaggerated sense of exceptionalism.”  That’s the idea that we’re a special case.  We can get away with stuff no one else can.

Here’s but one example:  just as the Romans spread their military throughout much of their known world, so have we.  It’s hard to get an exact count, but a low estimate would be 700 bases in 60 countries.[4]

I mention all this, not for the purpose of debating foreign policy, but to recognize what it does.  It builds and maintains the foundation for what, in my humble opinion, is our greatest idol:  affluenza.  It’s a disease that infects all of us—a disease that leaves us restless, constantly urging us to consume, to buy more and more…stuff.  It’s no wonder we can’t hear God!  We’re too busy worrying, “How can I pay for the junk I already have?  And for the junk I still want to get?”

I did say that affluenza infects all of us.  Therefore, I have to ask the question:  how does it infect me?  This isn’t a disease with symptoms seen only in the purchase of items.  It is a lifestyle.  Do I find myself watching television too often?  Here’s one a little more serious:  do I too often insulate myself from people who make me feel uncomfortable?

Do I too often join with the apostle Paul in saying, “I do not understand my own actions.  For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Ro 7:15)?  Do I too often take refuge in that thought?  To all these things and more, I have to say, with some degree of embarrassment, “Yes, I do.”

            In Sunday school, we’ve been exploring the questions, “Who are Presbyterians?” and “What do Presbyterians believe?”  We still have a few weeks to go—and then we will know everything there is to know on the subject!

            There’s something in our Book of Order that lets us know that Presbyterians have wrestled with this issue through the centuries.  We’re told that the Presbyterian Church “expresses the faith of the Reformed tradition,” one of whose themes is a “faithful stewardship that shuns ostentation and seeks proper use of the gifts of God’s creation” (G-2.0500a).  That word “ostentation” refers to showiness, status-seeking.

            For those who didn’t already know, Banu and I are oblates at the Benedictine monastery in Erie.  (By the way, an oblate is someone who is associated with a religious community, though not bound by its vows.)  I really admire the Benedictine spirit.

            Just as with the Reformed tradition, Benedictine spirituality has plenty to say about affluenza.  Benedictine writer Joan Chittister observes, “We take things and hoard things and give things to control our little worlds and the things wind up controlling us.  They clutter our space; they crimp our hearts; they sour our souls.”[5]

            The remedy for affluenza is simplicity.  That is, to unclutter, to untangle one’s life.  “Benedictine simplicity” [however], Chittister adds, “is not a deprivation.  It frees us for all of life's surprises.”[6]  Simplicity frees us for all of life’s surprises.

            Perhaps that’s one of the most seductive and sinister aspects of affluenza.  It deludes us into thinking that we’re really living.  It hides from us its ill effects on others and on the earth.  We find ourselves unwilling to pursue the abundant life that Jesus Christ offers.

            How has affluenza infected you?  How has the “more is better” mentality shaped you?  In what ways is your life cluttered?

            The process of choosing between the paths of, say, Amos and Amaziah is just that—a process.  The choice between authentic faith and being a spiritual sellout isn’t made once and for all.  It’s a continuous thing.  And our Lord knows that.

            I want to finish with something by Anne Lamott that Banu read to me a few months ago.  She thought it was really cool, and so do I.  It expresses the immense love our Lord has for us—and the way he’s willing to go to the mat for us, over and over again.

            Lamott is reflecting on her troubled relationship with her mother.  She speaks about how, after her mother’s death and cremation, she took the box containing her ashes and stashed it at the very back of the closet.  Out of sight, out of mind, you might say.  The quote is on the inside front cover of our worship bulletin.

            “I left her in the closet for two years to stew in her own ashes, and I refused to be nice to her, and didn’t forgive her for being a terrified, furious, clinging, sucking maw of need and arrogance.  I suppose that sounds harsh.  I assumed Jesus wanted me to forgive her, but I also know he loves honesty and transparency.  I don’t think he was rolling his eyes impatiently at me while she was in the closet.  I don’t think much surprises him:  this is how we make important changes—barely, poorly, slowly.  And still, he raises his fist in triumph.”[7]

            There are few changes more important for our own sake, and for the sake of the world, than dealing with the disease called affluenza.  But with each bare, poor, and slow change we make—in the face of the powers of death—Jesus raises his fist in triumph.

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